Posts for January, 2011

As a general rule, one should try to avoid ingesting deadly foods. Blowfish, death cap mushrooms, bitter almonds, and botulism pie are not generally found on most must-eat lists. So it’s understandable that a savvy diner might blanch when confronted by this newish Northeast Sandy burger joint’s signage for the first time. It’s pretty blatant. They’re out to get you, and your little arteries too.

Last weekend, I had the privilege of accompanying the Olympic Provisions delegation to the first annual Good Food Awards, which were given out at a special evening ceremony at the magnificent San Francisco Ferry Building. Out of 800 nationwide entries, 80 awards were bestowed upon 71 artisan producers who best embodied the notion of melding responsible production and superior taste. Olympic Provisions won four awards, three in the charcuterie category and one for pickles.

There are a lot of reasons your lover/imaginary friend/cat might request that you vacate the bed and spend the night on the couch. Maybe you snore. Maybe you are a covers hog or a twilight tooter or a sleep walker/talker/stalker. Maybe you are Wayne Rooney. Or, maybe, you ate a piece of new East Burnside pizzeria Sizzle Pie‘s What We Do Is Secret pie.

There really isn’t anything too secret about a piece of pizza that contains a golf-ball sized allowance of roasted garlic. But while Sizzle Pie’s offerings may eschew subtlety, they’ve not skimping on flavor, so anyone who is willing to brave a lumpy sofa for an evening, unfazed when asked to move their desk onto the office patio after lunch, or on the lam from a determined vampire would do well to investigate this hip new lunch-to-late-night pizza joint, where creatively conceived and brashly-named garlic, fresh jalapeño, truffle oil and cilantro-pesto festooned pies share the case with everything from a classic sausage and onion (the Bad Lieutentant) to the Vegan Angel of Doom. Read full story »

Sometimes I wonder, if I’d been in Keanu’s shoes in The Matrix, if I would have gulped the redpill and jumped down Morpheus’ rabbit hole, or if I would have eschewed the black trench coat and straight razor-wielding silver twins and continued on in blissful bluepill ignorance.

After taking green bean enthusiast Trevin Miller’s highly informative Intro to Home Coffee Roasting class at Mr. Green Beans–the N. Mississippi shop he co-owns with wife Ginny Miller–I think I might have inadvertently taken the coffee roasting redpill. Because one day, you’re enjoying a monotonous but comfortable morning routine of shelling out $1.50-$4 for your cup of morning coffee, and the next, you realize that for a mere pittance of the price, with a sense of adventure and possibly a bit of burn salve, you can be The One–The Roast-It-Yourselfer. If only the Oracle had told you this sooner, you might not have laughed in the face of the Latte Factor and squandered your retirement/yacht fund on joe. And now, you have a choice to make:

Growing up, my family didn’t celebrate Christmas, so come winter vacation, instead of spending our two-week school leave shopping and stringing popcorn like everyone else we knew, we took an arduous and mildly-traumatizing family road trip in the trusty ol’ royal blue Oldsmobile station wagon, fighting for the travel Yahtzee and the best car snacks as my dad pressed petal to the medal up I-5 in search of the next indoor pool.

Old habits die hard, and almost every year, my family and I convene for Christmas vacation in an unfamiliar city, roaming the eerily empty urban landscape searching for food, feeling very much like an extra in The Walking Dead. This year, we explored beautiful Vancouver (BC) for Christmas, managing to track down some very worthy eats despite holiday closures. If you’re headed up there anytime soon, I’d suggest sniffing out these spots. Merry New Year! Read full story »

When I try a new restaurant, I hear things. Like if the meal is lackluster, I might hear the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, or if it’s grand, I might hear wind chimes or the Happy Days theme song, or if it’s just somewhere in the middle I might hear the flat thud a cupcake makes when it falls from your hand onto the ground, frosting-down. Last night, Michelle and I stopped into St. Jack for a light meal (she’s on a New Years diet, I’d had two lunches), and as I was eating, I heard The Price Is Right theme song.

You could take this literally, the prices were reasonable and quite a good value, although St. Jack isn’t a cheap eat. But beyond that, you know when you’re watching The Price is Right, and they’re playing that happy little song and ringing bells, and the studio audience is clapping maniacally, and people are running willy-nilly down the aisles towards dreams of a new jet ski and a Corvette and a hug from Bob Barker? It’s all very exciting! And since I’ve been anxious to try St. Jack, hoping that it’s great because it’s in my hood and terribly cute and such an ideal addition to the Clinton neighborhood, it was The-Price-Is-Right-exciting to have an excellent first meal there. Read full story »